Angel Maker: An Unputdownable Scandinavian Crime Thriller With A Chilling Twist (DI Jamie Johansson Book 1)

It was nearly midnight by the time they cleared Jamie to leave the hospital.

She had been treated for stage-two hypothermia, and although she couldn’t remember much of it – like trying to recall a dream your mind is trying to forget – she knew what had happened.

She had shot Robert Nyström.

The doctor handed her a clipboard and asked her to sign. She obliged, her mood foul, her stomach churning from all the hot, sugary tea they’d forced down her, and scribbled her name. The doctor had receded quickly then, telling her to come back immediately if the nausea and disorientation hadn’t passed by the morning.

He left the little space, pulling the curtain to the side and leaving it that way. As Jamie looked up, she noticed Wiik standing there in the gap. He had his arms folded.

His usual pressed white shirt and sweater combo was gone. He looked altogether more casual, but not by a large margin. He was wearing jeans, a dark blue chequered button-down, and though his hair was as pristinely groomed as it always was, his face was sporting two days’ worth of stubble. He’d not shaved today either.

His expression was blank, his eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t tell if he was judging her or not. And if he was, what for.

Jamie broke his stare and looked down, sitting at the edge of the bed. Her boots were on the floor next to her, caked in blood. She’d cleaned her hands and arms off and slipped out the sodden long sleeve she was wearing, leaving just the T-shirt she had on underneath. They’d given her a pair of scrubs to wear for bottoms, which felt itchy against her bare legs.

Her jeans and her top, both soaked with blood, were in a plastic bag next to her boots, along with the package she’d recovered from the cabin.

She’d thought about opening it a thousand times, but wanted privacy to do so. Privacy that a hospital ward didn’t afford.

‘How are you feeling?’ Wiik asked, not moving forward. Or moving at all. He just hovered at the edge of her curtained cubicle, arms folded across his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

Jamie tilted her head one way and then the other. ‘I’ve been better,’ she said, not lying. ‘How’s Nyström?’

Wiik ran his tongue along his teeth, as though displeased with the answer before he gave it. ‘He’s in a coma,’ he said, seeming weary. ‘Lost a lot of blood. Stage-three hypothermia. Plus, the bullet punctured his small intestine before lodging in his pelvis. He’s been out of surgery for a while, but the doctors say it will be touch-and- go for a few days. They’re not sure if he’ll regain consciousness, and if he does, whether he’ll have any brain damage. He probably won’t walk right again, at the very least.’

Jamie grimaced, but she was glad he didn’t say it.

And then he did.

‘You really did a number on him.’

Jamie swallowed and looked up. ‘And what the hell was I supposed to do?’ she spat.

Wiik sighed, letting the tension drain from between them. ‘Falk is furious.’

‘I didn’t do it on purpose.’

‘Shoot Nyström?’

‘Find him. Or find anyone, for that matter.’

‘Then what the hell were you doing all the way out there?’

‘I was…’ Jamie trailed off. There was no point trying to hide it now. ‘I was looking for something my father left me. Or hid for me. Or… I don’t know.’

‘In a hunting cabin in the middle of nowhere?’ Wiik wasn’t buying it.

‘Yeah. We used to go there when I was younger.’

‘And you had no idea Nyström would be there?’

‘I thought he was dead,’ Jamie said. ‘If anything, I thought we were chasing a corpse.’ She rubbed her temple, the bright halogens overhead giving her a headache. ‘Any sign of Eriksson, yet? The church bus was—’

‘Nothing,’ Wiik said flatly. ‘CSTs are combing the whole area, but so far there’s no sign of him. Looks like Nyström was out there on his own.’

‘Jesus,’ Jamie muttered. She still couldn’t wrap her head around it. ‘How the hell does a man like Nyström – a goddamn detective – the goddamn detective who put the Angel Maker behind bars – turn out to be his successor?’ She looked up at Wiik, genuinely asking.

‘Maybe Sjöberg was innocent,’ Wiik offered. ‘And it was Nyström all along.’

‘No,’ Jamie said, dismissing it. ‘I know Robert Nyström. He wouldn’t have. And anyway – he was my father’s partner. There’s no way that he could have been doing it without my father knowing. Not a chance.’

‘Well, maybe your father was—’

‘Don’t.’ Jamie raised her index finger to shut him down, her voice dripping acid.

Wiik held his hands up to show he meant no threat. ‘All I’m saying, ’ he went on, ‘is that we may have caught Nyström off guard, but this case is far from sewn up. There are still a lot of pieces missing. Whether we got the guy or not. When he – if he – wakes up,’ Wiik said, letting his hands drop now and taking a step forward. ‘We’ll question him and get our answers. For now, take it easy. The CSTs will search the scene – they’ll go over Nyström’s car and the bus, they’ll pull the cabin apart, and we’ll have some more answers. For now, you need to rest.’

Jamie let out a long breath, feeling her shoulders heavy, her eyes swollen and itchy from exhaustion. ‘Have you spoken to Hallberg?’ Jamie asked, easing off the bed and reaching down for her boots.

Wiik came forward a little, as though to help, and then stopped, backing off.

Jamie padded across the tiled floor towards the radiator next to the bed. Her socks were drying there. Had dried, she hoped.

‘Yes,’ Wiik said.

‘How’s she doing?’

‘She’ll live. Damage is superficial. Though she did have some interesting things to say about the whole ordeal.’

Jamie grabbed her socks, eying Wiik carefully. He was staring back at her.

‘Oh yeah?’ Jamie asked, going back to the bed. ‘Like what?’

Wiik sort of shrugged. ‘She was thankful to have you,’ he offered, about as close to a compliment as things got with Wiik. ‘You saved her by the sounds of things.’

Jamie recalled the shooting. ‘Something like that.’

‘Even if you did ask her to stick her head above the parapet to do it.’

Jamie stopped, one sock half-on, and glanced up.

‘And shot our prime suspect in the process,’ he added.

She pulled the sock on hard and set her jaw. ‘Did you need something, or did you just come in here to torture me?’

Wiik watched her struggle with her socks and boots, her body stiff and sore from the day. Hell, from the week. He said nothing in response. ‘Hallberg filled me in on Hansen and Lundgren – on Rachel Engerman – on Emmy Berg and the forum. On your vigilante theory.’

Jamie detected a hint of scorn in that last word. ‘You don’t agree?’

‘It’s a leap.’

‘My father always said that a leap and a lead were only one letter apart.’ She tried to inject just a hint of humour into it but failed miserably. It just sounded tired and bitter, even to her ears.

Wiik folded his arms again, stepping back a little. ‘Well, whatever Nyström’s intentions, we’ve got him. He’s lying in a hospital bed, in cuffs, with an officer outside the door. Whether he wakes up or not, he’s not going anywhere. And the city can sleep a little easier.’ He lingered still, looking down at Jamie, though she didn’t know what it was that he was after.

Jamie pushed her feet into her boots now and stood, wobbling a little.

‘What will you do now?’ Wiik asked then, hurriedly even.

‘Go back to the hotel, sleep.’ Jamie shook her head. ‘Shower. Eat. Hope to hell this headache eases.’

‘And then?’

Jamie laughed a little. ‘Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Breakfast, probably.’

‘No, I meant…’ Wiik shifted his weight. ‘Will you be going home?’

She met his eye. ‘With no electricity or heating? I doubt it.’

‘I meant to the UK.’

‘Oh.’ Jamie was surprised by the question. Even more so by the uncertain look on Wiik’s face. ‘I… I don’t know. I was just sort of going day by day here. When the case is over…’

‘But the case is over,’ Wiik pressed, biting his lip. ‘You got him.’

Jamie thought there was a sourness there – as though Wiik was annoyed he’d missed the action again. Or upset that Jamie had been in danger and he hadn’t been at her side. Or maybe it was just at the thought of her leaving now that the case was done.

She picked up the plastic bag containing her belongings and pressed her lips into a line. ‘It’s late.’

‘It is,’ Wiik said, not moving, and not letting it go.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I haven’t spoken to Falk, but I think she’s going to be keen to send me packing.’

‘I can speak to Falk.’

‘Wiik, it’s not about that… It’s… It’s…’ She had to look away. He was staring at her like an old dog being left at the side of the road.

Jamie gathered herself, tightening her grip on the plastic bag. She picked her head up, ready to give her answer to the question that neither of them had said, but that was hanging between them.

But she didn’t get to.

Behind Wiik, Jamie could see people running in the corridor.

She leaned around him, watching as a doctor streaked past, followed by a nurse hurriedly pushing a trauma cart.

They were yelling.

Jamie and Wiik were frozen in place, watching, both of their hackles rising at the same time, both holding their breath.

And then a uniformed police officer dashed past, shouting for people to move out of the way.

Wiik and Jamie didn’t need any other incentive.

They were both already running.